


to have people to try and bear it with

by Princex_N



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Autism, Autistic Hawkeye, Autistic Radar, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sensory Overload, Solidarity, Team as Family, Understanding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-25 16:47:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22499305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princex_N/pseuds/Princex_N
Summary: Hawkeye can tell that something is wrong when Radar starts picking at his food instead of eating it.
Relationships: Radar O'Reilly & Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce
Comments: 9
Kudos: 118





	to have people to try and bear it with

**Author's Note:**

> for the anon who requested: **Hawkeye helping Radar with noise-related sensory overload?**! I think I managed to get all of your details in there!!

Hawkeye can tell that something is wrong when Radar starts picking at his food instead of eating it. 

The mess tent isn't any louder than it usually is, it might even be quieter. It's the kind of day no one really wants to be present for, an exhausted haze following a busy yesterday, but there are still a few scattered conversations, and sometimes that's more than enough. Might especially be more than enough when Radar spent most of that yesterday running around the camp and helping anyone in any way he could, and knowing him, he probably stuck around to work on paperwork once everyone else had found the calm to rest.

Just because Hawkeye's busy day involved a lot more standing around and consistency doesn't mean he doesn't get it, and just because he's doing his best to work through the same thing by knitting doesn't mean Radar has a similar solution. Hawkeye never can shake the thought that Radar can always feel those kinds of things anyway; he can't imagine it does him any favors. 

What's going to be the challenge is making sure that Radar doesn't lose it in here, and making sure that _he_ keeps an air of subtlety as he tries to help.

(This unit can excuse a lot, and does so on a pretty regular basis, but making good excuses can only get you so far, and Hawkeye knows more than most that the excuses never seem to go far enough to cover the embarrassment anyway.) 

"Radar," Hawkeye calls, but isn't surprised when the corporal doesn't even look up from his plate; the way Radar is looking, he's tenser than a spring and twice as absent. "Radar!" Reaching over and jostling him would be a surefire way to get his attention, but there's a fine line between attention grabbing and just becoming part of the problem, and _that_ seems like a fine way to waltz right over it. 

Thankfully, it only takes two more repetitions of his name (and a casual dismissal of the concerned looks they're getting from Potter and Mulcahy) before Radar's gaze finally startles up near Hawkeye's. 

"S-sorry, sir. Did you need me?" Radar stammers, tugging at his ear uncomfortably while his gaze skitters around the table. 

He hadn't actually thought that far. "Yeah, I need to uh, send a telegram. Mind taking it down for me?" 

That one Hawkeye only needs to repeat half of before Radar is practically rocketing out of his seat in his haste to take off. BJ raises his eyebrows in a silent question, and Hawkeye shakes his head as he gathers up his knitting. Someone would probably take it back to the swamp for him if he left it there, but it gives him an excuse to slow down a bit and give Radar some extra space before Hawkeye shows up to start asking him questions. 

The glare of the sun doesn't do the dull ache behind his eyes any favors, but he keeps his stride as slow as he can manage. By the time he makes it to the Colonel's office, Radar is already sitting at his desk, hunched over in the seat awkwardly and staring down at the unfinished paperwork there like it's personally offended him. 

"What did you want me to write?" he asks once he notices Hawkeye coming through the door. "Sir," he tacks on after a tense beat. 

"Nothing," Hawkeye assures him, shutting the door quietly instead of letting it slam closed. 

Radar is halfway through writing the word down before it registers, and then he blinks up at Hawkeye - equal parts confused and irritated. "Sir?" 

"Knock it off with the 'sir' stuff. There is no telegram, I just needed an excuse to get us both out of there; you looked like you needed a break." 

That catches Radar's attention, but not in a good way. He stiffens up further, which Hawkeye hadn't thought was even possible, and sits shock still, the subtle motions of his here-and-there fidgeting suddenly gone. "I don't know what you mean," he says stiffly. "I'm fine."

He's not even looking in Hawkeye's direction, but Hawkeye resists rolling his eyes anyway because Radar does always seem to hear you better when he's not looking. "Radar, you know you don't have to pretend with me." Despite his assured affectation, he doesn't actually know what he's doing, and he goes to tuck his knitting basket against the wall and sit on the edge of Radar's cot just as an excuse to do something with his body, and to keep from staring. "I think we know each other a little better than that by now." 

(They don't talk about it much, but they'd seen each other straight off. The first time Hawkeye met Radar he'd barely gotten in a handshake before it registered, and neither of them had much time to process it before Radar was saying _'Oh, gee, you too sir?'_ without thinking, and then they _both_ had to get busy trying to provide some excuse to a bewildered Henry.) 

Radar's face screws up (Hawkeye can't help but wonder if it's because he caught Hawkeye thinking about Henry). "I _know_. I just-just-just," the word trips and freezes in his mouth, and Hawkeye can see him turning redder and redder with each repetition, whether from the embarrassment or the strain, or a combination of both, and it all hits a little too familiar for Hawkeye to be comfortable.

"Alright," he intervenes before it can carry on much longer. "You don't have to explain; you know I don't care. Don't even talk if you don't want to, just nod or shake your head or something. The door is shut - do you want me to lock it too?" 

Radar's quiet a moment, still frozen in place, and Hawkeye tries not to think too hard about anything in the meantime. He seems to come to some sort of silent decision, and the stillness breaks all at once; one of his hands goes straight under his hat to start pulling on his hair and his body settles into an unsteady rocking. After another moment, he nods. 

So, Hawkeye gets up and locks the door, or gets close enough for it to count (somebody'd probably be able to get it open if they jiggle it good, just in case some kind of emergency springs up, but otherwise it'd give anyone a long enough pause that Hawkeye would have time to intervene). 

After that, he turns his attention back to Radar. "Alright, the door is locked. I'm not loving the hair pulling there, kid; you'll wind up bald. Is there something else you can do with your hands that won't hurt you?" 

He tries to speak slow and carefully instead of his usual quick quips, but it feels like it takes more effort than it should, and Hawkeye rocks slightly on his heels while he waits for the words to connect, hands fidgeting in his pockets as he tries not to worry that he might be doing more harm than good here. When it does finally sink in, Radar's hand shifts down to his mouth, then snaps down to his lap once he realizes that's not much better. He makes a frustrated noise low in his throat and flaps a hand in the direction of his cot.

Hawkeye probably should have thought of that on his own, but he's not exactly firing on all cylinders either. A quick shake down of the sheets turns up Radar's bear, tucked carefully where most people passing through wouldn't notice, and Hawkeye is quick to deliver it, "Here. You want to move over to the cot?" 

Radar takes the bear hastily, pulling it in close to his chest and smoothing his fingers over the well-worn fur repeatedly. He gets to his feet clumsily, and Hawkeye skitters out of the way as Radar moves past to push his body neatly into the corner. 

With all that taken care of, Hawkeye shifts his gaze away uncertainly. They haven't talked much about what's okay to be seen, even with each other, and no one likes to be stared at anyway. Leaving entirely is another poor choice, though, both because it'd be rough leaving Radar here without anyone to run interference for him while he's indisposed and because it seems in poor taste to just take off and leave him in the thick of it when it hasn't been indicated as an actual preference. 

(Plus, it's entirely possible that just because Hawkeye _can_ handle the noise of the other tents right now doesn't mean that he _wants_ to.) 

Instead, Hawkeye makes his way back to the cot too, sitting close enough to be a hopefully reassuring presence, but also within kicking distance just in case he isn't. To keep himself from just staring awkwardly - at Radar or off into space - and just in case Radar _can_ feel Hawkeye's discomfort, he gathers up his knitting again and gets back to work. After a moment of losing himself in the soft shift of yarn and clink of the needles, he starts to rock back and forth. 

(He doesn't do it much anymore - it's not quite as subtle as the other movements he's picked up over the years - but he's noticed the way Radar has tapered off over the months of being here. He knows that it's by choice, but he also knows that it's not much of a free decision when the rest of the world is strongly implying - or outright stating - what they think the right answer is. If Hawkeye can make it a bit easier for Radar to indulge by breaking the same 'rule' himself, then it's not going to hurt his feelings to do it.) 

They sit in silence together. Radar, rocking and combing his bear's fur, and Hawkeye, swaying gently and focusing the majority of his attention on the stitches he's working on; the only real sound being the occasional hum Radar lets loose. Both of them wind up so absorbed in what they're doing, in the quiet space carved out for each other, that they nearly leap off the cot when the door rattles. 

"I'll take care of it," Hawkeye says, after the quick disorienting moment it takes him to regain his bearings. The lack of sustained badgering of the lock leads him to believe it's probably not an emergency, and there's no need for both of them to get up when one might do just fine. 

Colonel Potter is the one on the other side, peeking up over the edge of the window as best as he can. Hawkeye knows that he and Radar is pretty close, but he's still not sure how comfortable Radar is with Potter seeing anything, so he pokes his head out of the door instead of opening it properly.

"You boys alright?" Potter asks.

"Yeah, we're both peachy. Gives us another five-," Hawkeye pauses, glancing back inside to get a nod of confirmation from Radar before continuing, "five minutes and we'll be even better." 

"You need me to get you anything?"

Hawkeye smiles. "No, thanks. I've got it." 

Potter nods decisively, and Hawkeye gives him a fluttering wave before closing the door again. A quick glance out the window proves that Potter isn't leaving, is standing in a solid parade rest in front of the door instead, so Hawkeye doesn't bother to lock it again. 

It's not as easy to fall back into the same rhythm he had before, so he doesn't really bother. He keeps knitting, because he might as well, but the insulated little illusion had broken with the interruption, and they _both_ know that it's almost time to face reality again. The shared quiet space of the office isn't real life, after all, only the war is. 

"Hey, Hawkeye," Radar asks, and Hawkeye hums absently. "Thanks." 

"You don't have to thank me," he points out, glancing up from the needles to look sideways at Radar's solemn expression. "It's not a problem." 

"Yeah," Radar shrugs loosely, smoothing over his bear's fur one last time before tucking it back in its place with careful hands that make Hawkeye's chest ache. "Thanks anyway, though." 

The smile that pulls at Hawkeye's mouth feels weak, but no less sincere for it. "You're welcome, Radar," he says softly, glancing away when he can't quite take the openness in the younger man's face any longer. 

After that, there's nothing else they can do but try to pull themselves together again; find all the pieces of their masks and paste them back into place before anyone else gets a chance to see what they're hiding beneath them. It's not bad, it doesn't _hurt_ , and it's nothing they're not used to. 

But Hawkeye can still wish that they'd had just a few more minutes to keep pretending, anyway. 

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to send in requests if you have them! 
> 
> [my tumblr](http://www.princex-n.tumblr.com)


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